


Depraved

by repossessme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Accidental Incest, Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, F/M, Inappropriate Erections, Incest, Masturbation, Old Married Couple, Parent/Child Incest, Voyeurism, Weasleycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/repossessme/pseuds/repossessme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur had forgotten his hat. That had started it all, hadn't it? A task as simple as fetching head-wear had snowballed into something very... odd. Something that threatened to wreak havoc on his marriage. Completed January 27th, 2006</p>
            </blockquote>





	Depraved

He'd just sat down in front of the hearth to page through the _Prophet_ as he was wont to do in the mornings before work, when he realized that his hat wasn't in its customary spot atop the mantle. He liked to put it there so that in his mad post-breakfast dash to work, he could simply grab it on the way through the flue. It made things simpler for him.

He took the stairs two at a time, the smell of bacon and the sound of Molly cracking eggs into a bowl giving him reason enough to hurry. It was a very rare thing for him to miss breakfast.

A quick sprint down the hall, into the bedroom, and he grabbed his hat off the bureau. Smiling from the simple thought of the meal that would greet him after he descended, he walked down the corridor. He was a bit winded from all the dashing about and took it slower on this go, after all, he wasn't a young man anymore. Molly would have fussed madly over him if she had seen, likely trying to convince him that he had pulled a muscle or some such invented malady.

A noise caused him to stop. He probably wouldn't have even noticed it if he had gone back downstairs just as quickly as he had come up, but he _had_ noticed it and nothing could change that. The sound seemed to be coming from Ginny's bedroom, and, slowly, he approached the door. There the noise was again, like a small, distressed moan. Arthur's first thought was that she had somehow hurt herself, and he took a quick step to close the gap between himself and her room, noticing that the door was ajar. He tilted his head and peered through the slit, wanting to see what the matter was.

As it turned out, Ginny wasn't hurt at all. As it turned out, she was in fact _very_ well: eyes shut tight, her creamy freckled legs straddled a large throw pillow as her hips were grinding against it. Her moans were distressed, all right, but they were also heated, yearning, _lustful_.

Arthur twisted his hat in his hands, feeling a familiar tingling warmth spreading below his belt.

He could see a faint indication of pink knickers as the hem of her nightie was hitched high upon her thigh, but his view of that was mostly obscured. On the other hand, he could see quite clearly the swell of her breasts through the thin fabric, peaked magnificently by turgid nipples, and through that thin nightgown he could even make out their rosy hue. It was amazing how little was left to the imagination, really.

Arthur swallowed. Hard. He vaguely remembered Ginny whining a few weeks ago about how old and threadbare her nightclothes had gotten, and he thought that in this case he would have to recommend to Molly that--

"Well hullo, dear. Breakfast is nearly done."

Arthur paled and immediately his head snapped to the staircase, at the top of which his wife was standing, smiling at him, as if conjured by his thoughts. She was coming toward him now. He took a step back and quarter-turned his body toward her, trying his best to put on a look of normalcy and not implicate himself by way of the direction he had been facing.

"You shouldn't clutch your hat so," she tsked playfully at him, shaking her head and pointing at his white-knuckled fists. "I've told you how absolutely tedious it is to have to use the crisp and pointy spell over and over and _over_ again, haven't I? And all of those little wrinkles hiding in the brim." Though she spoke with the tone of a long-suffering wife, Molly's hands went to his shoulders and she lifted herself up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek.

As she did so, she brushed against the considerable bulge in Arthur's trousers. He shifted uneasily on his feet.

"My... my goodness," she feigned shock at first. Then Molly gazed up at him through her eyelashes, a mischievous look crossing her features. "It's rather a pity you must be at the Ministry in just a bit."

It called back to their school years, the times when they would sneak out of the castle in the dead of night to be together. But just as soon as he had been whisked away to the past, he was plunked back down in the markedly less cheerful present.

The glint in Molly's eyes had turned into a furrowing of her brows as she saw how uncomfortable Arthur seemed, and she had cast her gaze behind her during his short reverie. Evidently, she saw just the thing that happened to be responsible for his untimely erection. Only now, as Arthur happened to be able to see over the top of his wife's head, Ginny was holding fast to the lacquered wooden board at the foot of her bed for leverage as she squeezed the pillow tighter still between her legs and rocked with renewed vigor, apparently oblivious to her parents on the other side of her jarred door. He cringed.

The door slammed. He jumped. It took Arthur a moment to realize that Molly must have reached out behind her for the handle and yanked it shut. He wondered for a moment if Ginny had been startled by the noise, but the look Molly was giving him was a reminder that the _last_ thing that should have been on his mind was his daughter. He cleared his throat, beyond sheepish, not knowing what to say. What could he _possibly_ say?

"Arthur. Weasley," Molly forced his name through pursed lips. Her face was rapidly going red.

Arthur knew that tone, and the look... they were most often deployed against the twins, and only when they had done something particularly reprehensible. He wasn't used to being on _this_ side of that display, yet he noticed something else. Her expression wasn't only full of anger, frustration, and disappointment; there was something much darker lurking in her eyes. Disgust. Loathing. Arthur suddenly felt very, _very_ ill, and wrung his hat in his hands. Blasted hat, if only he had waited, or brought it down with him in the first place--

"You are **depraved**!" Molly cried in a huff and stormed back the way she had come, her feet maliciously stomping upon each stair.

He stood there for a long while, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. He certainly couldn't argue with her, what in Merlin's name _had_ he been doing, anyway? He shook himself, trying to think of some way to patch this all up. It would take time. Arthur knew it would be a very harrowing night indeed when he returned home from the office, and a difficult week to follow. That is, if Molly didn't intend on barring him from the house altogether. He wouldn't put it past her, he had never seen her this furious.

Trudging feebly toward stairs, he intended to make his way to the hearth. It was quite unexpected when Molly headed him off, and he stopped abruptly. She was holding out a piece of toast, though it wasn't really _to_ him, it was more _at_ him, and she wouldn't meet his gaze at all.

"Wouldn't do to have you go hungry all day," she grumbled.

Arthur took the solitary piece of toast and Molly disappeared back down the stairs. He sighed and took a bite, though instantly he wished he hadn't. He could tell that this particular piece of bread had gone rather more than stale long before it had met its toasty fate. Briefly, he wondered if there might be mold on it, but if there had been it was obscured by the butter that had been liberally slathered over it. There was something off about that as well – butter wasn't supposed to be that sour, was it? Arthur wrinkled his nose and willed himself to swallow only what he had bitten off. He'd toss the rancid, moldy remains once he Apparated at the office, as it was clear he wasn't going to be able to get to the flue without stepping into Molly's field of vision.

Some women poisoned their husbands, he mused, but not his. _His_ only tried to force spoiled food on him. He thought on that as set his crumpled hat atop his thinning red hair and with a sharp _crack_ , he was gone.


End file.
